Miracles

by Judith McNaught

  Julianna could almost hear the sound of her dreams splintering and crashing at her feet. “I don’t want a husband!” she cried. “I want to travel, and learn, and write, Mama. I do. I think I could write a novel someday—Grandmama said I am truly talented with a pen. No, don’t laugh, please. You must get the money back, you must!”

  “My dear, foolish girl, I wouldn’t even if I could, which I cannot. Marriage is the only future for a female. Once you see how Fashionable Society lives, you’ll forget all that silliness your Grandmother Skeffington stuffed into your head. Now,” she continued blithely, “when we are in London, I will contrive to put you in the way of eligible gentlemen, you may depend on it. We are not common merchants, you know—your papa is a baronet, after all. Once the Ton realizes we have come to London for the Season, we will be included in all their splendid affairs. Gentlemen will see you and admire you, and we will soon have eligible suitors lined up at our door, you’ll see.”

  There was little point in refusing to go there, and no way to avoid it, so Julianna went.

  In London, her mother insisted they browse daily in the same exclusive shops in which the Ton shopped, and each afternoon they strolled through the same London parks where the Ton was always to be seen.

  But nothing went as Lady Skeffington had planned. Contrary to all her hopes and expectations, the aristocracy did not welcome her with open arms upon discovering her husband was a baronet, nor did they respond at all well to her eager efforts to engage them in conversations in Bond Street or accost them in Hyde Park. Instead of being given an invitation or invited to pay a morning call, the elegant matrons with whom she tried to converse gave her the cut-direct.

  Though her mama seemed not to notice that she was being treated with icy disdain, Julianna felt every insult and rebuff enough for both of them, and every one of them savaged her pride and cut her to the heart. Even though she realized her mother brought much of the contempt on herself, the entire situation made her so miserable and self-conscious that she could scarcely look anyone in the eye from the moment they left their little house until they returned.

  Despite all that, Julianna did not regard her trip to London as a total loss. Sheridan Bromleigh, the paid companion whom her mother had employed for the Season, proved to be a lovely and lively young American with whom Julianna could talk and laugh and exchange confidences. For the first time in her eighteen years, Julianna had a friend close to her own age, one who shared her sense of humor and many of her interests as well.

  The Earl of Langford, whom Lady Skeffington had coveted for her daughter, threw a final rub into her plans by getting married at the end of the Season. In a quick wedding that shocked London and antagonized Lady Skeffington, the handsome earl married Miss Bromleigh.

  When Julianna’s mother heard the news, she went to bed with her hartshorn and stayed there for a full day. By the evening, however, she had come to see the tremendous social advantage of being very personally acquainted with a countess who had married into one of the most influential families in England.

  With renewed confidence and vigor, she focused all her hopes on Nicholas DuVille.

  Normally Julianna could not think about her disastrous encounter with him that spring without shuddering, but as she sat in the maze, staring at the glass in her hand, the whole thing suddenly seemed more amusing than humiliating.

  Obviously, she decided, the horrid-tasting stuff she’d drank actually did make things seem a little brighter. And if three swallows could accomplish that, then it seemed logical that a bit more of the magical elixir could only be of more benefit. It was in the spirit of scientific experimentation, therefore, that she lifted the glass and took three more swallows. After what seemed like only a few moments, she felt even better!

  “Much better,” she informed the moon aloud, stifling a giggle as she thought about her brief but hilarious encounter with the legendary Nicholas DuVille. Her mama had spied him in Hyde Park just as his curricle was about to slowly pass within arm’s reach of the path they were on. In her eager desperation to point him out and effect a meeting, Julianna’s mama gave her a light shove that put her directly into the path of his horse and curricle. Off-balance, Julianna grabbed at the horse’s reins for balance, yanking the irate horse and its irate owner to a stop.

  Shaken and frightened by the animal’s nervous sidestepping, Julianna clung to its reins, trying to quiet it. Intending to either apologize or chastise the driver of the curricle for not trying to quiet his own horse, Julianna looked up and beheld Nicholas DuVille. Despite the frigid look in his narrowed, assessing eyes, Julianna felt as if her bones were melting and her legs were turning to water.

  Dark-haired, broad-shouldered, with piercing metallic-blue eyes and finely chiseled lips, he had the sardonic look of a man who had sampled all the delights the world had to offer. With that fallen angel’s face and knowing blue eyes, Nicholas DuVille was as wickedly attractive and forbidden as sin. Julianna felt an instantaneous, insane compulsion to do something that would impress him.

  “If you wish a mount, mademoiselle,” he said, in a voice that rang with curt impatience, “may I suggest you try a more conventional means of obtaining one.”

  Julianna was spared the immediate need to react or reply by her mother, who was so desperate to accomplish an introduction that she violated every known rule of etiquette and common sense. “This is such an unexpected pleasure and privilege, my lord,” exclaimed Lady Skeffington, oblivious to the ominous narrowing of his eyes and the avidly curious glances being cast their way by the occupants of the other carriages who had drawn to a stop, their way blocked. “I have been longing to introduce you to my daughter—”

  “Am I to assume,” he interrupted, “that this has something to do with your daughter stepping in front of me and waylaying my horse?”

  Julianna decided that the man was rude and arrogant.

  “That had nothing to do with it,” she burst out, mortified by the undeniable accuracy of his assessment and by the belated realization that she was still holding on to the rein. She dropped it like it was a snake, stepped back, and resorted to flippancy because she had no other way to salvage her pride. “I was practicing,” she informed him primly.

  Her answer startled him enough to stay his hand as he started to flick the reins. “Practicing?” he repeated, studying her expression with a glimmer of amused interest. “Practicing for what?”

  Julianna lifted her chin, raised her brows, and said in an offhand voice what she hoped would pass for droll wit rather than stupidity, “I’m practicing to become a highwayman, obviously. By way of an apprenticeship, I jump in front of innocent travelers in the park and waylay their horses.”

  Turning her back on him, she took her mother firmly by the arm and steered her away. Over her shoulder, Julianna added a dismissive and deliberately incorrect, “Good afternoon, Mr. . . . er . . . Deveraux.”

  Her mother’s exclamation of indignant horror at these outrageous remarks muffled a sound from the man in the carriage that sounded almost like laughter.

  Lady Skeffington was still furious with Julianna later that night.

  “How could you be so impertinent!” she cried, wringing her hands. “Nicholas Du Ville has so much influence with Society that if he utters one derogatory word about you, no one of any consequence will associate with you. You’ll be ruined! Ruined, do you hear me?” Despite Julianna’s repeated apologies, albeit insincere, her mother was beyond consolation. She paced back and forth, her hartshorn in one hand and a handkerchief in the other. “Had Nicholas DuVille paid you just a few minutes of attention in the park today, where others could see it, you’d have been an instant success! By tonight we would have had invitations to every important social function of the Season, and by the day after, eligible suitors would have been at our door. Instead, you had to be insolent to the one man in all London who could put an end to my hopes and dreams with a single word.” She dabbed at the tears trembling on her lashes. “This is all
your grandmother’s fault! She taught you to be just like her. Oh, I should be horsewhipped for allowing you to spend so much time with that dreadful old harpy, but no one could oppose her will, least of all your father.”

  She stopped pacing and rounded on Julianna. “Well, I know more of the real world than your grandmother ever did, and I am about to tell you something she never did—a simple truth that is worth more than all her fantastical notions, and that truth is this—” And clenching her hands into fists at her sides, she said in a voice shaking with purpose, “A man does not wish to associate with any female who knows more than he does! If the Ton’s gossip mill finds out how bookish you are, you’ll be ruined! No gentleman of consequence will want you! You . . . will . . . be . . . ruined!”

  5

  A TRILL OF FEMININE LAUGHTER pulled Julianna’s thoughts back to the masquerade, and she listened to the sounds of adults behaving like naughty children, wondering how many feminine reputations were being “totally ruined” out there tonight. Based on what Julianna had gathered from her mother’s frequent lectures, it seemed there were countless ways to be ruined, but there were two different and distinct kinds of ruination. Mistakes made by the female alone, such as appearing too intelligent, too clever, too bookish, or too glib, could “ruin” her chances of making a splendid match. But any mistake she made that involved also a gentleman resulted in “total ruin,” because it eliminated her chances of making any kind of match at all.

  It was very silly, Julianna decided gaily as she reflected upon the myriad ways of blundering into “total ruin.”

  A female could be “totally ruined” by allowing any gentleman to be alone with her in a room, or allowing him to show a partiality for her, or even allowing him a third dance with her.

  As Julianna contemplated all this, she realized she would have been far, far better off if she had done only one of the countless things that could “totally ruin” a female’s chances of making any match. If she had been totally ruined, she realized with a sudden flash of new insight, she would not now be facing a repulsive marriage to Sir Francis Bellhaven!

  The thought of him banished her momentary mirth and made the moon waver as her eyes filled with tears. She reached for her handkerchief, realized she didn’t have one, and sniffled. Then she had another sip of her drink, trying unsuccessfully to buoy her plummeting spirits.

  * * *

  For several minutes after he had finished his cigar, Nicki remained where Valerie had left him, deliberating about turning to his right and returning to the garden or turning left and walking deeper into the maze until he came to a path that, he knew, led around to the side of the house and ultimately to his bedchamber.

  He was tired, and his bedchamber had an enormous and very comfortable bed. If his mother hadn’t specifically asked him to stop here on his way from London and to give her regards to Valerie’s mother, he wouldn’t have come. According to his father’s note, his mother’s health had taken a sudden and precarious turn for the worse, and Nicki did not want to do anything, no matter how minor, to disappoint or distress her. Turning, Nicki walked along the convoluted path that led out of the maze and into the garden, ready to fulfill his social obligation this night and his filial obligation on the morrow.

  6

  JULIANNA WAS QUITE CONVINCED THAT total ruination would cause Sir Francis to withdraw his offer, though she had no idea how she would survive if her parents disowned her for ruining herself. Sniffling again, she bent her head, closed her eyes tightly, and decided to resort to prayer. She asked her grandmother to help her find a way to ruin herself. Deciding that it might be wise to appeal to an even higher authority, Julianna took her problem directly to God. It occurred to her, however, that God might not approve of such a request, let alone consider granting it, unless He was fully apprised of her dire plight. She sniffled again, closed her eyes even tighter, and began explaining to God the reasons she wished to be ruined. She was just to the part about having to marry Sir Francis Bellhaven, and crying in heartbroken little gulps, when A Voice spoke to her out of the darkness—a deep, rich, male voice filled with quiet authority and tinged with sympathy: “May I be of assistance?”

  Shock sent Julianna surging to her feet, her heart thundering, then leaping into her throat as her widened eyes riveted on a shadowy cloaked figure that materialized from the inky darkness and began moving forward.

  The apparition stopped just beyond reach of a pale moonbeam, his face in shadow, his features indistinguishable. He raised his arm slowly, and something white seemed to float and flutter from his fingertips even though there was no breeze.

  Her senses reeling from shock and brandy, Julianna realized he was holding the white billowing thing out toward her. She stepped forward hesitantly and reached for his extended arm. The object that came away in her hand turned out to be an earthly, though still very soft and fine, handkerchief. “Thank you,” she whispered reverently, giving him a teary smile as she dabbed at her eyes and nose.

  Not certain what she was now expected to do with it, she held it out to him.

  “You may keep it.”

  Julianna snatched it back, clutching it safely to her heart. “Thank you.”

  “Is there anything I can do before I leave you?”

  “Don’t leave! Please! Yes, there is something I need, but I should like to explain.” Julianna opened her mouth to finish explaining to God why she was praying to be ruined when two things struck her as a little odd. First, this celestial being who had evidently appeared in answer to her prayers seemed to have a slight accent—a French one. Second, now that her eyes had adjusted to the pool of darkness that concealed him, she noticed a small detail that struck her as more sinister than heavenly. Since she had been praying to be ruined, it seemed not only prudent but imperative to make certain the wrong sort of mystical being hadn’t decided to pay her a visit in answer to that prayer.

  Fighting against the dulling effects of the brandy, Julianna fixed him with a cautious stare. “Please do not think I am questioning your . . . your authenticity . . . or your taste in fashions,” she began, carefully injecting as much respect into her voice as she possibly could, “but shouldn’t you be wearing white rather than black?”

  His eyes, visible through the slits of his half mask, narrowed at such an impertinent suggestion, and Julianna braced herself to be struck down by a bolt of lightning, but his tone was mild. “Black is customary for a man. Were I to appear here in white, I would draw too much attention to myself. People would begin trying to guess my identity. They would note my height first, then my other features, and begin trying to guess my identity. If they did, I would forfeit my anonymity and then my freedom to do the sort of things one expects to do on nights like tonight.”

  “Yes, I see,” Julianna said politely, but she wasn’t completely convinced. “I suppose that’s not as extraordinary as I thought.”

  Nicki thought their entire meeting thus far had been a little “extraordinary.” When he first saw her, she had been weeping. In a matter of moments, that expressive face of hers had already exhibited shock, embarrassment, awe, fear, suspicion, and now uncertainty . . . even apprehension. As he waited for her to screw up the courage to explain whatever it was she wanted of him, Nicki realized there was nothing ordinary about her. Her pale blond hair seemed to glisten with silver in the moonlight when she moved her head, and her large eyes actually appeared to be a lavender blue. They dominated a delicately molded face with smooth milky skin, winged brows, and a lovely mouth. Hers was a subtle beauty, easily overlooked at first glance. It came from a purity of features and a candor in those large eyes, rather than from vibrant coloring or exotic looks. He couldn’t assess her age, but she looked quite young, and there were certain things about her that did not quite fit.

  She drew in a deep breath, pulling his thoughts back to the matter at hand, and he quirked a brow at her in silent inquiry.

  “Would you mind,” she said, very, very politely, “taking off your
mask and letting me see your face?”

  “Was that the favor you wanted to ask of me?” he asked, wondering if she were addled.

  “No, but I cannot ask it until I see your face.” When he showed no inclination to move, Julianna implored in a shaky, desperate voice, “It’s terribly important!”

  Nicki hesitated, and then sheer curiosity made him decide to comply. He pulled off the mask and even walked out of the shadows to give her a good look at his face, then he waited for a reaction.

  He got one.

  She clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes as round as saucers. Nicki stepped forward, thinking she was going to swoon, but her sudden shriek of laughter checked him in midstride. That was followed by great gales of mirth as she sank onto the stone bench and covered her face with her hands, her entire body shaking with hilarity. Twice she peeked out at him from between her fingers, as if to ascertain that she had seen correctly, and both times the sight of his face made her laugh even harder.

  With a supreme effort, Julianna finally managed to compose herself. She lifted her face to his, her eyes still sparkling with mirth as she stared in disbelief at the one face in all England that had made her heart pound. And now, as her shock subsided, that face was beginning to have the same effect on her that it had had on her last spring. Only this time there was a difference. This time there was a slight smile touching that chiseled mouth, and his eyes weren’t cold and hard, they were merely . . . speculative. All in all, his expression was noncommittal but definitely interested.